The nasty
by Vernon Danforth
Summary: What do you do when your girlfriend leaves you for the man she was cheating on you with? You get revenge. Right? Rated M for leMon.


It's a hard feeling to describe. All I know is that it sucks.  
Call it a sneaking suspicion. I just know something's up. Something's different about her.

She won't touch me. She won't look at me. She won't talk to me.

One word responses. Under a state of constant aggravation. Easy to agitate. Too easy to piss off. It's like she doesn't even like me anymore.  
My question is why. Not why she would stop liking me, of course. I completely understand that.  
But if she no longer finds me appealing, than why are we still together? I am puzzled, to say the least.

It's breakfast time. Scoop a lump of scrambled eggs from the steaming pan before me, and dump it onto the closest plate to the pan. Another swift motion, and more plops down onto the pile.

Turn around. She's hiding behind some fashion magazine with some sleazy undeserving whore on the cover. No talent hacks singing, pretending. Looking cute. That's all they need to do. It's all their worth.  
Rouge wants to be like that. Worthless. Spoiled. Rich. A whore.  
A stream of curly smoke rising behind the trash she hides behind. A cloud of ash surrounding her.

"Breakfast is ready," I tell her, setting the plate down before her.

She peeks over the magazine, and takes a drag from her cigarette. Her head disappears behind the magazine again, and her hand pushes the plate away before going back to snatch the corner of the magazine, to support it.

"Ugh, no. I'm on a diet."

"Oh," I say. "Okay."

I eat what's on her plate, and throw the rest out. After putting the dishes in the sink, I stand there for awhile before finally speaking.

"I'm doing a commercial today," I tell her. "I'm about to leave. I'll be back later."

"What is it this time," she snorts, "going to be on a cereal box?"

"Some fast food restaurant." A sigh escapes my lips. "I'll probably be gone all day. You know how these things go."

"Whatever," she says, flipping pages. "Bye."

"I love you."

No response. I walk out the door.

What did I do wrong? 

* * *

"What do you mean the shooting has been cancelled?"

"Exactly what I said," the fat walrus of a desk clerk responds, in her monotone voice, "the shooting has been cancelled. It will be rescheduled as soon as the director gets better."

"What happened to him?"

"I'm not allowed to say," she states flatly. "We'll call you by the end of the week."

"You couldn't have contacted me at home?"

"We tried," her finger digs into her ear. Her eyes fixated on something off in the distance. Like she's not even here. "The line was busy." 

* * *

Shuffling my key ring around between my fingers, searching through the lot of them for the house key. Find it, and drive it home. Turn it to the right, and wait for the click. It doesn't come.

But...

I locked this door. This doesn't make sense. The knob turns with my hand. The door pushes open behind me. I locked this door, I'm sure of it. I specifically remember locking it behind me.

Slowly, quietly pushing open the door and stepping lightly across the threshold. Something's amiss. There's just something particularly not right about this. I can feel it in my bones.

Downstairs is the kitchen, the living room and a bathroom. As soon as you go through the door, you're looking at the stairs. Lean to the left, looking through the living room into the kitchen. Empty. Kick my shoes off, and slowly advance up the stairs, tiptoeing. The door at the top of the hallway is cracked open. I hear something rustling around in there. Steps slow down. One step at a time, I lean to the right, as to not be seen.

Upon arrival at the top of the stairs, I walk over to the door and peek through the crack. She's kneeling before something, her back moving slightly. Silently push open the door, widening the space. Stick my head through to see - dear sweet fucking god - she's doubled over someone's legs, head in someone's lap. Bobbing up and down. I look up. Shadow. I don't know what to say, what to do. My face, my whole body frozen in horror at what I'm looking at.

"Nhn!" Shadow moans through closed lips, his head rocked back with his eyes closed. She immediately pops up and gags, spitting cum all over shadows chest.

"God damn it, Shadow," she says, coughing fits interrupting her, "I told you to warn me before you came!"

"Sorry," he says insincerely, falling back onto the bed as she hits him in the chest and stands up. She walks over to the nightstand on the other side of the bed and picks up a glass of wine, which she drains before coughing again, and turning around. Her eyes pop open when she notices me standing here. Her lips form a straight line that stretches across her face. Her face freezes. Her pupils dilate.

"What the fuck?!"

Shadow jumps, startled. He looks at me, then looks at her. He repeats this action more than once. My gaze shifts back to her, who's still frozen in place. The glass falls from her hand to the carpet, where little remaining droplets splash against the white floor, staining it.

"It's..." she begins, eyes cutting around wildly. She's digging deep. "It's not what it looks like!"

"Not what it looks like?! You mean you weren't just blowing Shadow on my bed?!"

"I'm sorry Sonic, but there's someone else." She can't look at me. She can't look at anything longer than a fraction of a second.

"And when were you going to tell me?!"

Her eyes finally focus on me. Her brow narrows.

"You lied to me!"

"What?"

"You said you were going to be gone all day!"

"Are you fucking serious?!"

"This relationship is built on lies, Sonic. And I don't love you anymore. So... get out?"

"Get out? Get out?! Is that a fucking joke, Rouge? I pay the bills!"

"Sonic, you moved in with me. My name's on the lease. This is my place. Get. Out."

"YOU FUCK 

* * *

ing bitch!"

"Are you okay, Sonic?" Bartender asks, wiping the inside of a glass with a dirty rag. Normally that might be off-putting, but I don't even care, at this point.

"No. Another gin and tonic."

"If you say so."

After a few moments he sets the dink on the bar.

"On the house," he says.

"Thanks."

Down the drink and set the glass back down.

"I just wish there was a way to get back at her..."

"Hey, man. Don't do anything drastic." 

* * *

I just don't understand.  
I don't get it.  
Why wouldn't she just leave me?  
Why would she stick around and lie to me?

She could have left at any time. What kept her around?

I'm walking, but I don't know where.

I need to fuck something.  
I need to get that cunt out of my system, and fast.

Amy.  
The old stand-by. 

* * *

Walking up to the door of the apartment complex, with my hands in my jacket pockets.  
It gets cold this time of year.  
I didn't bother to call. I'm sure she'll be home. And I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see me.

Knock on the door. Muffled sounds of shitty pop music emanate from behind the door. Knuckles rap the door three more times.  
That's when I hear it.

"Unh!"

What the fuck is that?

"Oh! Fuck! AHH! AH! AH!"

Someone's hurting her! Before I can even think my left foot takes me back a few inches, and my right foot smashes into the door. SLAM! A crack forming under the force of my shoe, as my foot recoils and I stumble a few steps back. Lean forward and throw all my momentum into my shoulder. Smashing it onto the door, the solid object gives way to me. Passing through, everything is a blur. Tripping, falling face first into the ground. Disorientation. Screaming. Amy! Is she okay?! Look up to see that everything blurs together. Before me, pink and purple. You can't tell where one begins and one ends. Vision comes into focus, and there she is. On her hands and knees. And there he is. On top of her.

Naked.

Both of them are.

"Nack?"

He pulls out of her and stands up. She rolls onto her ass, and leans against the couch.

"Sonic! What the fuck?!"

Amy continues shrieking, as she picks up her shoe from the carpet beside her, throwing it at me. It bounces off my head, making me dizzy again.

"Get the fuck out!"

They were fucking and I busted in on them.

My face feels hot.  
My head is pounding.  
My heart is throbbing.

Jump to my feet, and scramble out the door, not bothering to pick up the pieces of the destroyed door I left behind.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I'm such a jackass. 

* * *

I'm not sure how I end up in these situations, really.  
It all happens so fast.

Before you even know what hit you, you're sitting in a hotel room, with nothing of value. Money, I have that, sure. But money is useless. Money's another trap. It's only good for keeping you alive. It's only good for keeping you from getting bored. It's only good for distracting you from what a failure you are.

I call the front desk, and ask them to bring more of those little bottles of alcohol. They ask my why I don't just get a large bottle. I say, sure. Why not. That would be nice. Whatever. I'm just trading in my tickets for dumb little prizes. None of it will last. None of it will matter in ten years.

The only things worth holding onto are sentimental. They have stories, lifetimes attached to them. These things you collect over a lifetime. These things you explain to your friends. The object may seem dull, and worthless. Generally they won't fetch anything in the sales department. A little trinket nobody would ever care about in a million years if it sat at a dime store. What makes it unique is the story behind it. What makes it special, is the things it's seen. These trinkets, these symbols will live on much longer than you or I. The fabulous prizes will be destroyed, or divided amongst the living.

I no longer have any friends. All of the personal belongings I had, I left with Rouge. Most of it pictures of us. CDs. Books. Useless junk. Crap that does nothing for me but remind me of the life we shared. Five long years together. Five long years flushed down the toilet. Maybe that's why she stayed with me so long. Kind of hard to throw away five years. Instead, she seeks help outside of the relationship. He was her drug that kept her sane. Am I really that bad? I guess I am.

She was no queen, herself. No princess. Bubble-headed cunt. But I loved her. I still do love her. I wish I could make her feel bad about it, at least. I wish I could make her feel the way I do. I wish I could make her suffer.

A knock on the door, and my alcohol has arrived. I screw off the cap and pry out the built in pourer with my fingers. Fuck a cup, I've nobody to share with. Turn the bottle upside down, and swallow three or four mouthfuls.

Yes, I wish I could make her suffer.

And maybe.

Just maybe...

Maybe I can. 

* * *

I bought a car.

A tiny piece of shit car that nobody wanted.

Some clothes.

It's important I'm not noticed out here. In the parking lot of the place I once called my residence. Looking at the door through which I would walk every day. Every evening.

It's like I'm looking in at my old life from the outside.

A very strange feeling.

Reach into my jacket pocket to retrieve my trusty flask. Just another useless trinket. I unscrew the lid, and suck down my useless prize tickets.

This is what I've become.

I'm about a week in. I've been observing her schedule. She still goes to the gym for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Her hours are never consistent, though. Sometimes she leaves early in the morning. Sometimes late in the afternoon. Sometimes she stops to get a smoothie on her way home. Her actions are predictable, but when they will occur is uncertain. The objective is observation. It's Wednesday today. Tomorrow, the moment of truth occurs. She will be in the palm of my hand. She will suffer, as I have suffered. That is, if all goes to according to plan.

Shadow leaves sometimes, sporadically. It's hard to tell where he's going, or when he's coming back. He's too fast for the car to follow, and I can't very well chase him on foot. Hopefully he'll be where I need him to be.

He won't be getting off light, either. 

* * *

I've been thinking for a long time how I'm going to manage to pull it off.

I've played the scenario out in my head a thousand times.

It always plays out the same.

In my favor.

I don't know.

It's hard to say.

I want everything to go right, but am I just lying to myself?

I'm being realistic, right?

I hope so.

I said it before, it's hard to say.

I'd better sleep on it.

I'll have a drink, first. 

* * *

Two hours.

I got two hours of sleep.

Sometimes I feel like it's better to get no sleep at all. I wake up feeling like shit. Couldn't get back to sleep. Head hurts. Swallow some pills and take a drink. I'll be okay. I'll manage. I just have to keep my head in the game and my eye on the prize. Keep focused, Sonic, my boy. You haven't had much sleep lately, but that's okay. You just need to hold out a bit longer. Pull through for me, buddy. You have it in you, I know it.

I'm out of the stuff in the bottle. The stuff that makes me numb. I call the front desk and tell them I want to cash in my tickets. When the guy asks what the hell I'm talking about, I respond violently.

"Enough of your god damn chatter," I say with impunity. "I want another shiny bottle of the golden stuff that makes things okay."

"You want more Goldschäger?" he asks.

"Yeah. That's the stuff. The antidote. Now. Here. This room. Use your magic, heathen."

I slam the phone down and start to cry, and I'm not entirely sure why.

What?

Fuck you.

You're a pussy.

Sometimes a man needs to cry. That doesn't make me a pussy.

You're just an asshole.

Oh, yeah? Well, you can stuff it!

...

ZzZzZzZz... 

* * *

My hands around her throat.

Tightening.

She tries to gasp. Tries to scream.

Air squeaking as miniscule amounts suck between her caving in windpipe.

It won't matter in a few seconds.

Taking her down to the floor with me.

She looks up at me with those dull, artificial eyes. Her face plastered in makeup. You can barely see her turning blue under all that cover.

Her dumb artificial eyes roll back into her stupid artificial skull.

Arms flailing around weakly, a futile effort. Mouth agape. She's trying to say something. Trying to beg for her life. Trying to bargain with me, after all that we've been through together.

Everything she does, everything we all do, none of it matters.

We'll all end up feeding the worms.

She stops kicking, and her swollen eyelids close. 

* * *

A knocking sound startles me.

I snap out of my trance.

How long as it been?

Not long.

It's hard to say.

My head is ringing.

Another knock at the door. Three, actually. In succession.

I get up, and walk over to the door.

Look through the peephole.

It's just my alcohol.

Open the door, and snatch the bottle from his hand.

"That'll be-" he starts, getting cut off by the door slamming in his face. "Hey! You have to pay for that!"

Looks like I'm out of tickets.

Looks like I pissed them all away.

Looks like I got this prize for free.

But it won't matter.

None of it matters.

I won't even be here when he comes back with the manager.

I'm leaving for good this time.

Welcome to the final act. 

* * *

I've been here since the early hours in the morning.

Sitting here in the parking lot, drinking from the bottle.

Didn't even bother with the flask today.

Not like it matters, anyway.

It's about three in the afternoon.

Give or take.

My clock is broken. Well, not broken. It's off. But I'm not sure by how much. And I think it was just daylight savings time. I don't know, I don't keep up with that shit. I don't even know what the date is.

A thick fog hangs over the grey streets of Station Square today. A very dull atmosphere.

After all my hours of waiting, my princess finally emerges from her kingdom. She slowly walks her way over to the bus stop, and the bus arrives shortly after. She gets on it, and disappears. Wait about ten minutes. Look around, to make sure the coast is clear. The fewer people know I'm here, the better. We don't need any witnesses, now, do we?

Slowly make my way through my parking lot, and up to my front door. The one to my apartment.

Knock three times.

The door opens a couple of inches before being stopped by the chain.

My chain.

"What are you doing here?" Shadow asks.

"I'm here to pick up some stuff," I tell him. "Open the door, so I can grab some things."

"I don't know about this, Sonic. I wasn't told you were coming today."

"That's because Rouge didn't know when I was coming. But I have to get my things."

"I should call Rouge," he says timidly.

"Do you really need the consent of a woman? Come on, man. Just open the door."

"Okay," he says, "but no funny stuff."

"Honest injun," I tell him, hand raising up in the air. Another meaningless gesture.

The door closes. Some rattling. The door opens again.

He backs away from the door, and I enter my house for the first time in far too long.

"What did you come here for?" He asks, tapping his foot.

I smile at him and walk past, turning around by the sofa. My sofa.

"You know, we have a lot in common, Shadow."

I giggle.

"Hey," he pauses. "What is this?"

"We chose the same girl, we've lived the same life. We've both seen the corners of Mobius, haven't we?"

He stands between me and the love seat.

I'm closing in.

"I thought we agreed," he states, backing up, "no funny stuff, eh?"

"You asked me what I came here for," closing in. In close, body all but pressed into his. Cheek grazing his. Tilt my head slightly to the left, exposing his right ear. I let out a short breath before saying "I came here for you."

His ear twitches.

My tongue brushes slightly against it, giving him butterflies.

Heart is racing.

This is hell, I'm putting myself through.

Push him down onto the love seat, and sit in his lap.

"Just what a-"

"Shhhh..."

Let's get one thing clear, okay? Before we move on.

I'm straight. But sometimes, you have to do something you really don't want to do. And I really didn't want to do this, believe me. But here I am, doing it anyway.

Closing my eyes, kissing my way down his chest, and into his lap. Breathing heavily as I locate him. He's already hard. Not

Pretending I'm somewhere else.

I'm in Knothole village.

I'm in outer space.

I'm dancing on Rouge's grave.

I'm rotting in my own.

I'm anywhere but here. Doing anything but sucking Shadow's cock.

I'm not a fag.

I'm not licking up the length of it. I'm not surprised at how well this is going. It isn't going well. It isn't happening at all. If it was happening it wouldn't be going well. My pants aren't tightening. I'm not getting off on this, I swear. He isn't pushing my head down as far as it will go. I don't hear a slam somewhere off in the distance. Not choking. Not gagging. There's no rhythmic thudding that gets closer and louder. I'm not gagging. I'm not suffocating. This isn't happening. I'm not throwing up. My hands aren't forcing his off my head so I can surface. I'm not puking all over his naked lap.

"What the fuck?!"

She wasn't expecting this. She doesn't know how to react. I wipe the puke off my lips with my forearm and look at Shadow. His face frozen in shock. I look back over to Rouge, who is horrified.

"It's not what it looks like," I say.

"You fucking FAG!" She shrieks, throwing her purse in our direction. It whizzes right by me and hits Shadow, bouncing off the side of his head and landing somewhere behind him on the floor. She starts crying, as she backs into the wall behind her, sliding to the floor. Sobbing, hugging her knees to her chest. Before I even realize it, I'm laughing. It starts off quiet and gets louder and louder and louder. I can't stop. Falling to my side, off the edge of the bed. Rolling over to my back, closing the lids of my eyes. Tears rolling down my cheeks, leaving a moist trail all the way down my face.

Okay, I lied.

I'm getting off on this.


End file.
